


Almost there

by Alireza



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 05:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11752581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alireza/pseuds/Alireza
Summary: Molly and Sherlock's child is in no rush to be born. Sherlock takes Molly on a case.





	Almost there

'I really don't know what to do.'

Sherlock's first client that day was a middle-aged man who tried hard not to suspect his wife of infidelity. A handful of people saw her with a young man, half her age. A significant amount of money disappeared from their joint bank account. A third of her jewellery was missing as well and she was as calm about it as if she sold it herself.

Sherlock listened to him and struggled to stay focused, but his gaze continued to wander towards a large figure that occupied John's chair. Molly was over forty weeks pregnant, already past her due date. She was understandably uncomfortable, regardless of her position. A couple of false alarms, contractions that were promisingly regular and increased in intensity but eventually stopped, lowered her enthusiasm. Litres of red raspberry leaf tea and countless hours of climbing stairs and walking led nowhere. The baby, currently heavier than Rosie when she was born, was in no rush. To Sherlock's amazement, Molly approached it with impressive calmness. She prepared herself for long waiting, having assumed that Sherlock's child was going to be as indecisive as his dad. Instead of venting her frustration on Sherlock, she just started every day with plaiting and coiling her hair at the back of her head in hope of ending up on the maternity ward, in a birthing tub.

She let out a heavy sigh. Perhaps another misleading contraction. Sherlock couldn't help but notice how much weight she had gained. The subject was sensitive and John reminded him more than once not to inform Molly how many pounds she piled on. Quite a lot. Her face was rounder, feet and fingers swollen, breasts filled up with milk and her bump was big enough to knock things off the table. She looked... full. Soft around the edges. Her posture changed and she waddled, cradling the bump. Sherlock knew people reacted in all sorts of ways to a woman so heavily pregnant, He was mostly impressed. The limits of her body were being tested and she carried on as usual. Pride didn't let her accept help and she defiantly wore flip-flops to prove she didn't need anyone tying her shoes.

The client gave him details about his wife and left, reassured the case was going to be investigated unless Sherlock was going to be otherwise engaged. As soon as he left, Molly took a deep breath and began the long procedure of getting up without Sherlock's assistance. 'Well?'

He looked at her with a question in his eyes. She wasn't suggesting what he thought she was... was she? When she started showing, Sherlock did use her as a distraction while solving crimes. A baby bump attracted attention and made the man next to it invisible. Molly would ask a secretary for a glass of water while Sherlock casually broke into her boss's office. Now it was different. She wasn't as slow as one would think, considering her size, but she was.... so very pregnant. Too pregnant to go crime solving. She was the safest in the flat, with Mrs Hudson nearby and the hospital bag all packed and left by the door. Sure, she had not much to do in her state and following a potentially cheating wife equalled lots of walking, but it was too reckless. Who knew what could happen.

But then Molly gave him _the look,_ the last warning before an uncontrollably emotional row. Sherlock knew that look. It first appeared when the discomforts of the early pregnancy began. Molly didn't want to be a frustrated, angry woman who blamed her husband for every little ache. The baby was planned by both of them and she knew how hard it was going to be for her. The relatively peaceful atmosphere in their flat didn't depend only on her, though. Sherlock was expected not to annoy her. If he didn't want to witness the wrath of a woman who couldn't stomach her favourite food anymore, he had to stop complaining that she woke him a couple of times a night while searching for a comfortable position. He was also expected not to question her cravings and keep the grim facts about pregnancy to himself. Now it appeared that the list included taking her on a case without a word of protest.

 

They waited for the wife outside of her office. Molly was taking small sips of water and talked about her biggest craving that she tragically couldn't satisfy. Of all the unusual things she wanted vodka. Not chilled white wine or even beer. Vodka. Straight from the freezer, without any additions. Clean, cold vodka. She would talk about it and expected Sherlock to express sympathy.

'I don't even like vodka. It's gross, the taste is revolting, but I want it now, do you understand?'

Sherlock cautiously nodded. He was watching the entrance of the building, waiting for a green coat and shoulder-length, straight brown hair.

'It's a great case, just when we're about to start a family.'

'Yes. It will take your mind of enduring another day of not being in labour.'

Molly was looking like she couldn't decide if she wanted to smile or give Sherlock _the look_ again. Fortunately, the woman they were about to follow finally emerged from the building. Instead of heading home, she went in the opposite direction. Sherlock and Molly were right behind her. They could not look any less suspicious, just another couple trying to encourage labour by walking and walking and walking. Molly again described her fantasy of drinking vodka and Sherlock, apart from keeping a close eye on the target, tried to come to terms with becoming a daddy.

The problem was not the responsibility or all the permanent changes, but the inevitable loss of control over the child's life. It started with contemplating worst case scenarios about the last weeks of pregnancy, complications, small mistakes, bad luck that would stop them from having a happy ending. Molly then told him that bad luck could happen also after the birth. They were never going to be free from fear and it was best to accept it. 

Sherlock had a mild anxiety attack when he finally realised what the hardest part of parenthood really was. Not the guessing what a tiny human who spoke no English wanted. Not being constantly ready to do whatever the baby wanted whilst suffering from sleep deprivation. No, the hardest was the moment when he was going to have to let the child be independent. John was going through it with Rosie: she didn't want to hold his hand anymore. Bruised knees and two lost ice cream cones didn't convince her to change her mind. She wanted to make her own decisions and go wherever she wanted and however fast and clumsily as she pleased. All John could do was to let her do that and make sure she learnt from her mistakes. A strong-minded toddler might not be the biggest challenge, but then Sherlock remembered what he was doing in secret as a six-year-old. How much he hid from his parents, how often his curiosity almost cost him his life. Now he could understand why his parents were so bloody controlling and drove him mad. He was as important to them as the baby was to him. And as they, he was going to let the child live his own life, regardless of how difficult that decision was.

Apart from that serious future problem, Sherlock had another one: being called _Daddy_. He didn't want to let Moriarty ruin the word for him. He was determined to let people refer to him as daddy without feeling that distant, vague ache in his chest. Moriarty was dead, that chapter was finished and his new life with Molly and the baby had nothing to do with his charismatic, late adversary. He was going to stop thinking about Moriarty calling himself daddy on two separate occasions. He was going to get used to Molly calling him daddy in purely innocent manner. It was possible, he told himself.

 

The woman stopped. They were in the park now. Molly carefully sat on the edge of the nearest bench. Sherlock joined her and they observed the woman. She didn't wait long, soon an unwashed, haggard youngster came up to her. They talked for a moment, the woman handed him a thick envelope. Even from the distance, her affection for the teen was plain to see. Her hand on his cheek, her radiant smile.

'She is having an affair with him. He's blackmailing her to keep his mouth shut.'

Molly touched her enormous belly and winced. 'God, Sherlock. He's her son. She p-probably gave him for adoption and now feels guilty. He doesn't look like he comes from a good, loving family. I bet he lives in a shelter. Contractions nine minutes apart for the almost an hour.'

'Oh. What do we do?'

'We''ll walk back to Baker Street. Slowly. ' 


End file.
